


The Typewriter

by stellardrift



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dimension Travel, F/M, Memory Loss, Pining, Science Fiction, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-30
Updated: 2013-05-30
Packaged: 2017-12-13 10:59:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/823540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellardrift/pseuds/stellardrift
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa Stark takes the Hound's offer and flees King's Landing with him on the night of the Battle of the Blackwater.  Instead of finding their way home, they become even more lost, traveling through a portal into a foreign world.  In this world, knights exist only in stories and metal horseless carriages ride the streets of the city called London.  And the portal seems to have affected the Hound strangely, causing him to forget his true identity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Typewriter

**Author's Note:**

> Sudden inspiration hit after marathoning the entire past 3 seasons this week. I _really_ adore this ship. Anyway, this is unbeta'ed so any mistakes are my own. Concrit welcome :)

_Click. Click. Click._

Her fingers were a blur over the worn black plastic keys.  The sound was soothing, like some kind of lullaby, like the kind she used to sing.  She sings a different song now.  Of grey eyes behind ebony hair; of deep scars and terror and tethers of something she had only heard whispers about before.

He walks on the street below her, a shadow.  He does not look up to her, where she sits on the open porch.  The fog looms into the dimly lit street.  He pauses under the streetlamp.  She holds her breath.  Will he turn? 

Once, she was someone.  Once, she was a bird and she flew and sang and was free.  Now she is no one, a shadow.  He walks on.

Exhale.

 

_Click. Click. Click._

 

The Hound eyes seer into her.  "Come with me little bird.  Let's leave this place."

She takes his hand.  His grip is firm, as she had expected, warm as she had not.  He pulls her through the castle and out of the Red Keep.

Out in the streets, chaos reigns.  He keeps her close.  A man runs toward them, shouting, blood everywhere.  The Hound cuts him in half.

Exhale.

They make it out of the city.  Alive, somehow.  The streets are dark, it’s a new moon, but they enter the forest.  It would not due to meet anymore soldiers.  They continue in silence, not even stopping as the first tendrils of light escape over the horizon.  They march for another day.  He keeps up a brutal pace that she struggles to match.  When her legs give out beneath her, he reaches down and picks her up.  He whispers so quietly, she's not sure she heard anything at all, "I've got you my little bird."

Finally they stop.  Her arms tighten around his neck, "Please."

He looks at her, his scarred face a mask.  They are so close; she can feel his breath on her now.  She leans closer.  Their lips graze each other.

Exhale.

He sets her down abruptly and stalks off.

"Wait!" She calls after him.

"I'll be back," He says simply as the night swallows him.

He returns.

Exhale.

He shoves a piece of the bread in her hand and commands her, "Eat."

She takes it, savoring the brief touch of their fingers. 

 

_Click. Click. Click._

 

The keys jump up and down under her fingers, a courtier’s dance.  She doesn't pray to the gods anymore.  They don't live in this world.  She thinks of his face again and the warmth of his touch.  She no longer wonders if her mother would approve of this match.  She doesn't live in this world either. 

"Won't you come in from the cold, dear?"  Old Gran is standing in the doorway, a sad look on her face.  Sansa doesn't enjoy pity anymore now than she did when she lived at King's Landing but still, she follows the old woman inside and takes the cup of tea that was offered.  “Is it about you family, sweetheart?"

The old Gran was kind, giving her a place to live and food to eat when she didn't even know who Sansa was.  But my, was she nosey.  Sansa shook her head.

"A boy then?"  Gran asked with a tilt to her head. 

"He's a man,"  Sansa replied.

"Of course, dear."

 

…

 

At night she dreams of faraway places, of trees taller than any she's seen in this new land; of fire and snow and scars and lips.  She pushes forward this time and they crash into each other.  She tastes from his mouth greedily and he returns in kind. 

In the morning he is a stranger again.

The hardest part was admitting she was wrong.  She had messed things up again and ruined everything.  She sips at her tea as she stares at the blank paper, waiting for the words to come.  They always do.  Today they stick in her throat but she forces them out.

 

_Click. Click. Click._

 

They sleep together on his cloak.  Black.  He warms her.  She awakens cold.  A strange buzzing sound fills the empty wood. 

She stands carefully and follows the sound.  He is there, staring into it; a beautiful sapphire rip in the air.  The light was singing to her.  It called out.  There is a strange character to the air where they are, like of which she had never felt before.  It tingled against her skin.

"Do not go near, little bird.  This is some kind of powerful sorcery."

She continues towards it anyway.  The singing grows louder.  Wisps of blue float outwards from the light like smoke from a blaze.  "I just wish to look."

"We should leave this place at once."  She ignores him.  He is behind her, grabbing her arm.

"Let go," she protests.  She pulls away and stumbles backward, into the blue.  As she falls she reaches out wildly.  He has a firm grip.  His hand is warm.  They fall through the blue, together.

 

_Click. Click. Click._

 

"Sandor Clegane!"  She shouts after him, heart racing.  They are no longer in the wood.  They are no longer any place that Sansa recognizes.  “Where are you going?"

"It is not I.  I'm not who you think I am, girl,” he brushes her away, "Leave me be."

"You've sworn to protect me." _This can't be happening_.  She grabs his arm; she can feel his muscle rippling under the cloth of his tunic.  He brushes her off.  “Please.”

“I think I’d remember saying a thing like that.”  His eyes are cold, empty.

“ _Please.”_

He walks away.

 

…

 

She looks at the clock, 7:20am.  She tears herself from her words and watches the street below eagerly.  He will come.  He always comes. 

The pathway to the construction site where he works leads him past her porch.  She watches him walk by twice a day, a silent vigil.  He doesn’t turn.  He never turns. 

 

 

 

_fin._


End file.
